


Showcase

by seungshibari



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Character Study, Experimental Style, Light Bondage, M/M, Minor Injuries, Performance Art, Performance Artist Hwang Hyunjin, Vignette, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:53:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27046036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seungshibari/pseuds/seungshibari
Summary: A stranger took the thorn of a rose and dragged it across Hyunjin’s forehead. The even, red cut wandered aimlessly across Hyunjin’s unwrinkled skin. A few feeble beads of blood flowered from the shallow wound. Hyunjin smiled.Seoul Journal of Art: "Enduranceis an ambitious masterpiece from an emerging artist. Hwang invites observers to involve themselves in his performance, displaying incalculable amounts of faith. A must see.”Opaque Mag:“A surface-level attention-grab. Hwang’sEnduranceexists as a result of a culture that thrives on shock value.”
Comments: 12
Kudos: 52





	Showcase

**Author's Note:**

> for kika. 
> 
> "the hardest thing to do is something that is close to nothing.” (marina abramović)

Mirror.

Milk.

Glass.

Feather.

A brief sampling of the inventory that lay arranged with great care on the oak table. There were three more objects in the room that had yet to be accounted for: a chair, Hyunjin, and the frayed nautical rope that bound the two of them together.

The atmosphere was suffocatingly sterile without its onlookers. He could see that reactions ranged from sulking pity to abject disgust. In the middle of that spectrum was shameful attraction. People had started looking away from him, though, their faces riddled with a mundane sort of fear. They were unsettled, but they wouldn’t do anything about it. 

And all attention was good attention.

* * *

“So, it’s a performance art piece, yes?”

Hyunjin nodded, chewing on his ball pen.

“And you’re going to sit there and let people do whatever they want to you?” Chan, the museum curator, had his brows furrowed as he rifled through Hyunjin’s installment proposal.

Hyunjin gave the plastic cap one final bite and spoke clearly: “it’s an exercise in vulnerability and trust.” A way to diagnose the human condition at a specific point in time.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“It’ll be good press,” Hyunjin offered matter-of-factly. He’d made a salient point: the museum only admitted adults. It didn’t get much traffic.

“It won’t be good press if you fucking _die_.”

“It’ll be press!” Hyunjin threw his hands up and brought them down to grab and chug his cold brew. “Chan, I think it’s a good idea.”

“It’s a weird idea.”

“Um, okay,” Hyunjin hummed, “do you have anything else to put on? We’re going to have to shut down if we don’t draw the attention of sponsors.” 

Chan’s silence was enough of a response for Hyunjin. With a wide smile pinned to his face, Hyunjin pushed off from the conference table and spun in his rolling chair. 

* * *

_“On view 1.10.20 - 1.14.20_

The Bang Museum of Art is proud to premier _Endurance_ by the Seoul-based performance artist Hwang Hyunjin. The work centers around concepts of vulnerability, sexuality, and trust. It is intended to be an exploration of human nature. An oak table is set with twenty-four objects. Visitors are invited to enter the display, choose object(s), and use them on Hwang during the period of the piece. Hwang takes full responsibility for whatever occurs within the timeframe of the installment.”

* * *

The first day of the installment: Hyunjin drank a glass of strawberry milk and walked to the museum. He paused on the bridge, peering down to watch the swans cavort. The birds had their own morning commute to make, wandering through the braids of reeds that lined the river. Hyunjin enjoyed walking to work. 

The night before, Hyunjin spread the objects across a black tablecloth, spending fifteen minutes rearranging the layout so that it’d be visually engaging, tempting. A little maze of knives, roses, pens, paint. An artillery. Hyunjin had woken up before the world so that he could prepare; he faced the last soft dawn he’d get for four days and three nights. He strutted into the phantom museum, touching the cool marble pillars that heralded his entrance. 

Hyunjin settled into the chair and allowed Chan to tie his wrists to the armrests. The scratchy cord coordinated unexpectedly well with his embroidery-floss bracelets. He leaned back. 

“Last chance to tap out, Hyunjin,” Chan offered, slapping a pair of EMT shears on the table, right next to the plump apple and the letter opener. 

“You’d be impressed to see what I can survive,” Hyunjin answered cryptically. 

He didn’t know what he was saying. 

* * *

**_Guest One_ **

The first wasn’t hesitant. He gave Hyunjin a crisp nod and took to the table, his fingers brushing past the knife, past the apple, past the pen. 

Chan looked on from outside the cube, his jaw slack, as a stranger took the thorn of a rose and dragged it across Hyunjin’s forehead. The even, red cut wandered aimlessly across Hyunjin’s unwrinkled skin. A few feeble beads of blood flowered from the shallow wound. Hyunjin smiled. 

Then, he shoved the stem into Hyunjin’s closed mouth, sneering as the thorns dug into his plush lips. Satisfied, the stranger dropped the rose in Hyunjin’s lap and walked away. 

Immediately, Chan rushed in to inspect the damage. “Chan, go away,” Hyunjin muttered, using his tongue to scout the new wound. “You’re gonna scare people off.” 

Scurrying away, Chan gave Hyunjin one last suspicious look and shut the glass door behind him. 

**_Guest Two_ **

An old lady with kind eyes. She entered the display and grabbed the brush from the objects. She brushed Hyunjin softly, for at least five minutes. 

Once she was pleased, she plucked the ornate mirror - Hyunjin’s mother’s mirror - and showed Hyunjin her handiwork. A sweet, satiny smile and she was gone. 

Hyunjin guessed that other museum attendees would not be so kind.

Within Hyunjin’s glass cube, morality seemed like a mere suggestion.

**_Guests Three and Four_ **

A couple entered and plucked the lipstick off the table: garish, tropical pink. The woman uncapped the tube and began to delicately apply the product, looking down at Hyunjin with mercy and admiration. The man then grabbed the lipstick from his girlfriend’s small hand and carelessly smeared it across Hyunjin’s lips. 

Jealousy. Jealousy at the fact that Hyunjin could not be made ugly. 

The man walked away, commenting that new age art was stupid and pointless, but the woman stayed for a moment, grabbing the washcloth from the table and wiping away her boyfriend’s mess. 

Hyunjin learned something. 

**_Guest Five_ **

An ex. Hyunjin should have been embarrassed, but familiar faces acted like a soothing balm. 

“Hi,” Hyunjin murmured. 

“Hi,” Eric replied, “you’re crazy for this.” 

He picked up a bandaid from the display and applied it to the wound parallel to Hyunjin’s brow. 

“I know.” 

Eric pushed Hyunjin’s hair back, hesitantly kissed his forehead, and left quietly. 

**_Guest Six_ **

The stranger was handsome. He cast a concise and imposing shadow over Hyunjin as he seized a handful of cotton balls and a bottle of clear fluid, soaking his chosen objects in the liquid. 

He took a cold finger and pulled Hyunjin’s mouth open, stuffing the cotton balls inside. 

Hyunjin tasted the vinegar. His cheeks bulged with fiber.

**_Guest Seven - Intermission_ **

Chan walked into the display and wrenched his hand between Hyunjin’s lips, yanking the cotton balls out. Kneeling in front of Hyunjin’s chair, the apple lay in his lap. 

He offered the apple to Hyunjin, who hesitantly opened his vinegar-damp mouth and took a bite from the fruit: sweet and wet. 

Hyunjin would only eat during the piece if he was offered food. 

He chewed, he savored. From outside the display, onlookers took inquisitive pictures, their breath hot and shallow on the glass as they captured Hyunjin and kept him. 

**_Guest Eight_**

She picked up the hammer and acted as though she was about to bring it down on Hyunjin’s spindly hand. Hyunjin started to cry, proactively. Dropping the utilitarian tool to the floor, she ran her manicured thumb over Hyunjin’s sliced-up lip. 

She stared at Hyunjin like she wanted to cut holes in him and fuck them. 

**_Guest Nine_**

“Do you think you’re pretty on the inside?” the middle-aged man inquired, shoving his damp thumb into the cramped pocket of his suit. His pants were too tight. Hyunjin pursed his lips and blew a strand of hair away from his face. 

“Maybe,” Hyunjin replied simply, “why?” 

The man shrugged and his rugged shoulders skimmed his ears. 

There were many people who wanted to skin Hyunjin and climb into his body. This was the closest any of them would get. 

**_Guest Ten_**

She scooped globs of cake up. Hyunjin had to incline his head deeply in order to eat out of the lady’s palm. His small pink tongue bounced across heart lines and head lines. A dot of electric green frosting stuck to his nose, but the woman was looking at his lips. 

**_Guest Eleven_**

Hyunjin’s mother glared at him from the outside of the display. From the outside of the world. 

From outside. 

* * *

At night, as planned, Hyunjin would get his own light show. Bathed bright blue, then red, then scrubbed yellow. Hyunjin’s display - Hyunjin’s world - would be drenched in primary colors. Simple enough for him.

But the walls always washed back to the same piercing and unfriendly white at the end of each hour. He would sleep for twenty minutes or so, only to be roused again by his scheduled neon bastardization of the Aurora Borealis.

He missed the hands. The sweaty fingers that pried and poked. 

Everything was odd and shapeless. If he weren’t so tired, guilt would be percolating in his belly: guilt that he felt validated from the volume of love and hate that had been spilled in this room. 

Guilt that he was proud. 

Proud of the piece, proud of his appearance. 

Proud that people pitied him enough to take care of him, hated him enough to mutilate him. 

Proud that he made people feel. 

It was the same lavish, sickly feeling he got from poppers and anonymous hookups in bejeweled nightclubs. 

Time bent. Hyunjin had tried to keep count of the hours, but he didn’t make it past five. He knew why he was doing this, playing a merged martyr-and-showman. He was as good as what he could take, as good as the number of eyes on him. 

That was the shameful part, quantifying his worth. An unhelpful and inauthentic way to live. 

He got what he had wanted from the exhibit. He was fine. 

* * *

Hungry, and tired, and drained, Hyunjin looked at Chan with drooping, pleading eyes. 

“I’m done,” he screamed, “I’m done.” He wanted out. He was ready to quit. 

Solemnly, Chan entered the enclosure, took the pair of safety scissors from the cluttered table, and cut Hyunjin free. Like quicksand, Hyunjin slid from the seat of the chair to the museum floor, crawling out of the enclosure. His palms left oily smears across the swirling stone. 

The cool marble was no comfort to Hyunjin. 

He didn’t want to decide whether to move forward. He didn’t want to decide anything at all. 

* * *

Seoul Journal of Art: _“_ Endurance _is an ambitious masterpiece from an emerging artist. Hwang invites observers to involve themselves in his performance, displaying incalculable amounts of faith. A must see.”_

Opaque Mag: _“A surface-level attention-grab. Hwang’s_ Endurance _exists as a result of a culture that thrives on shock value.”_

  1. Letter opener 
  2. Apple 
  3. Brush 
  4. Shoes
  5. Rose 
  6. Mirror 
  7. Milk 
  8. Glass
  9. Vinegar 
  10. Feather 
  11. Lipstick 
  12. Nails 
  13. Bread 
  14. Knife 
  15. Pen
  16. Washcloth 
  17. Cake 
  18. Book
  19. Shoelaces 
  20. Bandages 
  21. Candle
  22. Lighter
  23. Postcard 
  24. Hammer 



**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are always appreciated! 
> 
> feel free to contact me elsewhere:  
> ⚜ [twitter](https://twitter.com/seungshibari)  
> ⚜ [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/seungshibari)


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